


grow up and blow away

by theviolonist



Category: The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012), The Perks of Being a Wallflower RPF
Genre: Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:05:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theviolonist/pseuds/theviolonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezra’s good at love. He said it to a journalist once: he’s very much in love with no one in particular. He’s kind of proud of the phrase.</p>
            </blockquote>





	grow up and blow away

Filming begins in May. Ezra gets there on the tenth and finds Logan sitting in his room with the lights turned off, looking at the wall. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asks. He snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face, just in case. 

Logan shakes his head. “Hey, yeah, yes, I’m fine. Uh, hi.” He blinks a few times. “Again.”

Ezra laughs and proffers his hand. Their palms drag together when Logan reaches to shake it. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“Brooding in the dark.”

“Oh. I, uh, preparing, I guess. For the role.”

Ezra tilts his head. “How long have you been here?”

Logan ducks his head and gives a little awkward laugh. “Uh, two weeks. Ten days, or something. I don’t know. I keep losing track.”

Ezra whistles. “Method acting, are we?”

Logan shrugs. He looks a little exhausted. Ezra remembers looking up from the last page of the book at fourteen and looking at his wall for a long time, numb, before he called Felicia, his girlfriend at the time. He can probably cut the kid some slack. 

“You weirdo,” he says, wrapping an arm around Logan’s shoulders. “I like you.”

*

Maybe if they’d gotten here earlier there could have seen more of Logan and less of Charlie; maybe they’re more alike than Logan likes to admit. Either way, seeing Emma again when she gets to Pittsburgh that afternoon is a riot.

Ezra envelops her in a hug, his hair electric, sticking to her cheeks, palms splayed at the small of her back. She makes a small surprised noise, tenses a little. “Hi,” he says. 

“Hi,” she answers, all posh and British and adorable. 

Logan blushes when he gets close. He sticks his hand out of his pocket awkwardly. “Hi. I really love your work.”

Emma laughs. Ezra winks at her because he can, because he’s happy. He’s of the opinion that happiness isn’t anything special. If it’s here, he’s damn well not going to save it for later. 

*

It’s just a really easy movie to film, in the end. There are hard times and being punched in the stomach and crying, and Logan doesn’t go out with them much because he wants to stay in his room and read _To Kill a Mockingbird_ or “absorb the character” or whatever, but it’s an easy movie. They’re easy together. 

Ezra puts his hands on Emma’s waist over and over until she relaxes and she’s Sam instead. She flicks him a cocky smile. 

“The letterman jacket suits you,” Ezra says, fingers playing at the hem. 

Logan reaches for the sown-in M. “Yeah. You really look American now. You’re one of us.”

Emma arches an eyebrow. “You peasants,” she says in her poshest British accent. 

She puffs her cheeks up like a hamster and she laughs, Ezra’s knuckles resting on the bone of her hip and Logan’s head in her lap. Steven claps from afar, but they don’t really pay attention. 

*

Prom is fun and God, Ezra didn’t think he’d ever say that. It happens to him all the time, ending up somewhere and thinking, _how the fuck did I get here_. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, unless of course it’s in one of his friends’ bed with crusty vomit on the sheet next him. That happened a few times. 

Logan watches them from his wall like the creeper he is, and Emma twirls and twirls and makes him twirl too and then Logan joins them and they dance until they’re dizzy and the pasta they had from lunch is threatening to come back up. 

“Cut!” Steven says after what must be the two thousandth take. “We got it.”

“Finally,” Emma huffs, resting her hands on her knees. It's a bit strange pretending to have known her forever. “I thought it’d never end.”

Ezra’s hand finds Logan’s on her knobbly bent spine. Ezra winks at him. 

“You liked it, don’t lie,” Ezra says. 

He grabs Emma’s legs and hauls her on his back. She flails her arms, shrieking. 

“Rock on, superstar,” Ezra says. He shakes her until she gives in and sits properly on his shoulders, waving her arms, eyes closed like she’s at a David Bowie concert. 

*

In June the police find 20 grams of pot in Ezra’s car. Ezra doesn’t care but the rest of the world kind of does; things happen like that a lot for him. The producers are pissed for a while. 

In the end what surprises him the most is Emma coming into his room with no make-up on and telling him he could have shared. 

He roars laughter at her, fires Logan a quick text ordering him to join them and tells her to sit on the bed. 

“You wanna have an adventure?”

She calls him cheesy. He takes it as a yes. 

*

Weed doesn't do that much to him, really; it just makes him more pliant and people aren't genders or colors or sexualities anymore, they’re people and they’re flowing together. That’s why Ezra smokes, because they’re _individuals_ and it’s what he wants. 

He hauls himself up on his elbows. The grass is fascinating. “The grass is fascinating,” he says. 

Logan croaks a laugh. He’s curled in a little ball with no shoes on, his socked feet periodically rubbing against Ezra’s ankles. 

“It is!” Ezra looks over to them. Emma’s there too. “You’re all so pretty.”

He beckons them over. They nestle under his armpits, one on each side. Sometimes he feels older than them even though he isn’t, sometimes he feels like Emma’s stuck-up and smart and unimaginative and Logan’s a weird shy kid, but right now it’s fine. They look alike. 

“The tunnel scene is gonna be amazing,” he tells them, kissing their foreheads one after the other until he feels dizzy and slobbers and they bat him off. 

“Amazing,” Logan mumbles. 

“I can’t wait to hear the song,” Emma yawns. 

“It’s like we can hear it right now,” Ezra says because he feels like being mystic and wise. “You just gotta listen.”

They fall asleep on the damp grass. The half-smoked joint leaves a little burn mark on Ezra’s forearm. 

*

Ezra’s good at love. He said it to a journalist once: he’s very much in love with no one in particular. He’s kind of proud of the phrase. 

He’s good at the immediate spark. He doesn’t want to waste it because someone doesn’t want to let him go. So he loves them, everyone, but gently, like it’s no big deal. 

*

Logan sits in one of the plastic chairs after the wrap party and rests his head in his hands. Ezra watches Emma go up to him. She wipes a cake crumb from his lip with her thumb. They hug. 

“I’m glad it’s over,” Ezra reads on Logan’s lips. One of his boyfriends was deaf-mute, so he learned ASL. It’s not something you can really forget.

He’s glad it’s over too. Those things take their toll, and it’s more than someone recognizing you in the street. Ezra doesn’t mind being back to that place, cornered and loud and numb inside; he just doesn’t want to get stuck. 

They beckon him closer eventually. They sprawl together on the floor: Emma makes angels even though there’s no snow and they’re touching in all sorts of places, hip, shoulder, waist, head. That’s love too, the good kind, even when it doesn’t last. 

*

There are about three hundred nights of premieres and touring and sitting in deserted airports at the crack of dawn, following their agents like automatons. Ezra knew it was only a matter of time before they stopped on their tracks, two thirty in the morning with red stinging in their eyelids, before they looked at each other and realized. 

It’s still funny, though. He watches Logan sit in one of the awful airport chairs and wipe his hands on the arms, as though trying to rub the trace of everyone who was there before him out of the metal. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Ezra says when he sits next to him. He brushes the back of Logan’s neck with his fingers, tangles them in the longish hair. It was shorter when they started. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Logan mumbles. “No, not really,” he says, looking up all a sudden like he does, his eyes big and earnest. 

Ezra smiles. “It’ll settle down.” He leans closer to Logan to whisper the rest in his ear - he likes his dramatics: “It’s great once you get used to it.”

Logan smiles a little exhausted smile, but not at him. Emma waves back from the other side of the room. 

*

Logan never quite stops wincing when the paparazzi catch him unawares, even though more often than not Ezra makes sure to wrap an arm around his shoulders and whisper stupid jokes in his ear. He's got this look like he never really grew up, or snapped out of it, like the scared kid from the movie is actually who he is. It annoys Ezra sometimes, a little. He wants to tell him to get over it, that life doesn't feel like that forever. He doesn't, though. You don't believe someone who tells you that, no matter who it is or how right they are.

Emma handles it better, of course. She has more experience. One night after interviews – a long, exhausting full day of them – she invites them to her room and offers to order a pizza. Logan doesn't sit down, hovers near the door, his hands in his pockets, like he wants to make sure he can hightail out of there in case things get weird. Ezra rolls his eyes. 

"Relax, junior, we're not going to eat you."

Emma laughs, gracious, and gestures to the bed. "He's right, you know. Sit down."

In the end Logan gives in and by the time they break out the vodka from the minibar he's flushed and happy, laughing at some incomprehensible British joke Emma made. He's pretty when he laughs – well, they're pretty together. 

Ezra holds up the bottle of Smirnoff. "Who wants to do shots?"

Logan darts a concerned look at Emma, like she's an unsullied virgin who's never gotten trashed before. But she shrugs easily, chuckling. "Sure," she says, reaching for the bottle. Ezra pulls it out of her reach and she laughs, wobbling on her knees before collapsing on the bed, half on Logan. 

"I've got no glasses, though," she says when she's done laughing, and Logan is holding himself very still underneath her.

Ezra sprawls on the bed next to them. "It's fine, we'll take a swig out the bottle, like proper rock'n'roll folk." He raises an eyebrow in Logan's direction. "How about it, Lerman? Want to start us off?"

Logan nods with false bravado. The alcohol loosens him up a little. He never really looked like he got used to the idea of it, the three of them, but now with his mouth wet and half-open he slurs, "You guys are great."

Ezra feels the beginnings of a headache and the familiar signs of something starting. "Right back atcha," he says. 

It's easy – really easy – to lean over and kiss Emma on the lips, just a peck. She doesn't look surprised at all, doesn't close her eyes either, just rests back on her elbows and lets him kiss her. 

"Yeah?" Ezra asks softly when he pulls back, because he always makes sure.

Emma nods, a smile quirking up at the edge of her mouth. "Yes," she says. 

She rolls over on her stomach and leans over Logan. For a flash second he looks absolutely terrified, but she says something soft, maybe _it's alright_ , Ezra can't tell. When their lips touch it's like watching bunnies kiss, cutesy and adorable.

"Come here," he says, and they comply, crowding against his side. 

They fall asleep like that, cuddled against each other. In the morning the sun finds them bleary and hungover and even Emma, who's usually never anything less than pristine, looks like she slept in a barn. They smile fuzzily at each other and take turns in the shower. 

*

Emma is light. She handles it with grace, like everything she does, maybe because she’s already been there before, in another trio with a set of guys who looked at her like she invented the toaster. Ezra admires her because he can’t help it and because he’s gangly and weird. That kind of elegance just can't be dreamed up. Once or twice he hooks an arm around her waist between interviews and kisses her, deep and hot and languid. She never closes her eyes – but then again, neither does he. 

Logan is another matter. Whatever he says, he's still a kid at the core, jittery and over-excited. His manager feeds him sweets on the press tour to keep him up and half the time he's riding a sugar high, his cheeks rosy like he's just been on a ride at the fair. The other half he spends in work mode, serious and panicked, jumping every time Emma or Ezra touch him. 

Eventually they corner him on the way back to the hotel one evening, cramming together on the backseat of the car, Emma half on Logan's lap. Logan pinks up, and it would be adorable if it weren't so frustrating.

"How're you doing?" Emma asks gently. 

"Fine, I'm – I'm fine. Just, you know, tired."

Emma knots her brows together like she actually believes him. She brushes a hand against his forehead. Logan tries to wriggle away, but the backseat is too small. 

"You've not got a fever, that's that at least," Emma says, undisturbed. Her face softens. "You know we love you, Logan," she says, genuine as all that. 

The look on Logan's face freezes. Ezra feels an urge to laugh, and instead jumps in. "I told you, it's great once you get used to it," he says, " _if_ you actually let yourself get used to it."

He watches Logan hesitate, his eyes still fixed on Emma's face. He gives in slowly, exhaling a soft sigh.

"Okay, whatever," he says, sounding exhausted. 

Emma places a quick kiss on his lips. "You should get some sleep," she says. As if on cue the car stops in front of their hotel.

Logan stumbles out of the car like a baby deer, wobbling on his legs. Ezra slides out the car and squeezes his shoulder. 

"Emma's right. Get some sleep and then we'll visit." He gives Logan a mischievous smile. "With booze."

Logan goes off. Ezra turns around to share a look of satisfaction with Emma, who smiles at him like he's won something. When they go collect their keycards at the front desk he jerks his head in direction of the elevator and she nods, follows him. 

*

It's not really different. It's not different at all, actually: Emma's just as perfect and Logan's just as nervous, and Ezra is his usual self, going through the motions and being just a little more careful with his pot than he used to be. At night they pick the biggest bed to fuck in and order room service when they're done, or just watch TV snuggled up together when they're too tired.

Ezra discovers about them the kind of things he likes to know about people: that Emma's ticklish, but only on her calves; that Logan has a mole on the inside of his left thigh, and that his nipples are sensitive. He's actually a good kisser, too, once you get him in the mood. 

The last day of the press tour rolls around and Ezra gives an interview in which he doesn't listen to the questions and improvises something about a "technicolor dream of weirdness", which is a great phrase to pull entirely out his ass, if he says so himself. He keeps flashing back to the night before, Emma lying on Logan with her arms bracketing his head, kissing him with a strange wistful look on her face. 

Sometimes Ezra remembers – belatedly, but he does – that not all people take this life as well as he does. Emma is far from high-strung, but she isn't easy, either. If anything, Logan is the ticking bomb, though he's settled down lately, plied with sex and pot and booze. He's sweet. Ezra kinda wishes he'd grown up somewhere else, for his sake.

When he comes back from the interview he corners Logan in the restroom. There are bags under his eyes, though Ezra's beginning to believe that he might have been born with them. 

"Hey," he says, "you okay?"

Logan ducks his head, smiles. "Yeah, fine. Three today and one tomorrow morning and then I'm done."

"Cheers," Ezra says quietly, resisting the urge to give him a noogie. Sometimes when you take him by surprise he hisses with laughter and it's surprisingly pleasant.

They find Emma outside the restroom, not waiting for them but not doing anything else either.

"Private meetings in the loo?" she asks, her voice light. "Classy, boys."

Ezra laughs. The other two join in and then Emma leaves with Logan, holding his wrist like she's leading a kid away from the playground. For once Ezra doesn't follow them. 

*

Ezra shoulders his backpack, ducks to kiss Emma on the lips. He always travels light, and this time was no exception. No baggage, that's what he likes to say.

"See you soon," she says, holding onto him for a moment more than usual.

"In Paris, right?" He can never remember where his premieres are, but it'll be easier this time. During _We Need to Talk about Kevin_ he was strung out and nervous, emotionally spent, and he had to smoke twice his usual amount to keep his cool, even during the press tour. Tilda was great, though.

Emma shrugs. "I'll text you," she says. 

Logan peeks from behind her, as though he'd been hiding. "Paris," he confirms, looking serious as usual. "There's an afterparty."

Ezra grins. "C'mere," he says. 

This time Logan comes willingly, tipping forward into Ezra's embrace, burying his head into Ezra's shoulder. From the corner of his eye Ezra can see that he's still holding onto Emma's hand. Maybe they'll make something out of the kid yet.

Ezra doles out a salute, smiling wide. He does love them, he does.

"See ya, kids," he says.

They smile back, leaning against each other to watch him walk away.


End file.
